but i am hellbound
by emilyftch
Summary: She's cold when you kiss her that first time. — naomi/emily


but i am hellbound

_don't want to let you down_  
_but i am hellbound._  
_though this is all for you,_  
_don't want to hide the truth._

— demons, imagine dragons

She's cold when you kiss her that first time, and you can't imagine how. The living room is cramped with hot sweaty bodies, all throbbing to the same pulsing beat being played over the speakers. Then again, everything about her is always cold: from the temperature of her porcelain surface skin to her hard-edged blue eyes. And yet, as you stumble into her, she welcomes you, allowing your nimble body to mold into hers. Your chests press against each other so that you can feel the pressurized pumping of her heartbeat, and you can feel the thrum of it in her tongue as she slides it along your bottom lip. Your own heart beats all aflutter, because ever since you first met her, your stomach hasn't stopped hurting and you've been awfully obsessed with the concept of kissing someone.

She lifts her hand to place it on your face, and the chill of her cold makes you shiver enough that you break the kiss, briefly, to let the vibrations of pleasure reach all your vertebrae. But only briefly, because the ache of hunger in you is strong. You swallow as much of her taste as you can, practically licking your lips as your body growls for more.

She moves her hand from your face to your breast, and you feel hopeful sparks in your stomach before she uses it to push you away, gently, almost unwillingly. And then she stares at you, her expression dead and unreadable. Your pleasure falters, because there's no glitter in her eyes, no electric charge that says "I want you," like yours always seem to have around her (you can't see them for yourself, but you just _know_). There's no trace of anything in her face – she has resorted to the cool uncaring demeanor she's famous for.

(Actually she's famous for her spontaneous bouts of anger, usually driven by somebody's stupidity or a slur slung her way, but a lot of the time she's really good at looking like she doesn't give a fuck.)

"You're gay?" is what she manages to get out after a time of just looking at you blankly like that; and suddenly her eyes have a ferocity in them, a panicky glow, as though the possibility of your homosexuality is as contagious and fatal as cancer.

In your own panic you seem to shout, "What? No!" And you do this because her exclamation encourages a few turns of heads, and you have to make sure you don't have lesbian emblazoned on your reputation before even entering college (besides, you don't even know if it's true – all you know kissing and looking at Naomi is kind of fucking amazing).

She raises an eyebrow at you before going to remove herself from your presence, and in a desperate frenzy for her to stay you burst out with "MDMA! I…It was just some MDMA I took!" But she just looks at you with furrowed brow before hightailing it out of there, pushing through the crowd with frantic precision.

You put your back against the wall, and stare off where she once was as your body wrinkles and you slump down to the floor.

Her taste is still on your tongue.

.

She's hot when you kiss her next. Adrenaline is coursing through your veins and so are the drugs, and you think "fuck it" as you reach up to take her lips on yours. You're hungry and you want her, and the way she fiercely tangles with you, kissing loudly and quickly, like drinking every last drop of replenishing water from your glass, makes you thirst for more. She's kissing you like you're going to save her. (Even though she asked "it's only the drugs, right?" so she could make sure to blame it on that if she ever needed to, you've made yourself not care because you'll take what's given to you.)

You feel the trickling sensation of fire dripping out your pores, and you can't imagine how you find her so unforgivably sexy when she's got those daft fucking homemade pajamas on that are too tight on one shoulder and too loose on the other. But you realize soon it's not the way she looks, but the whole _aura_ of her that shakes you to your core.

You pull away with hesitance, to gauge her reaction. Blankness has escaped her (perhaps it's the drugs, perhaps you're just one helluva kisser), and you watch her face wrinkle as a thousand thoughts must race her brain. In a bout of courage, you silkily say, "You liked that."

Something envelops her face but you can't read it before she's closed her eyes, taken a deep breath, and with smug finality then looks at you and says "You're gay." And she walks away, but not cruelly – she walks away knowing you'll follow and with a swish in her skirt that asks you to.

"Yes." you say aloud, and it feels like a burden thrown off your back as you stagger along behind Naomi, feeling everything in you buzzing – and not from the MDMA.

Maybe this will be a start.

.

It isn't. And it is.

.

The first time you have sex it's tentative. Your friendship with her is rocky at best, and you don't want to do this if she's just going to leave you. But, _god_, the way her mouth engulfs yours is sending you trembling again and it's in this moment you realize she can do anything, say anything, and you'll stay. You'll stay where she can see you, and you'll make sure she's not too far from you.

New bravery courses through you when you take her shirt off, and that snowballs into torn-away clothing and heated tongues inside each other's mouths as you two wrestle, feeling the pebbles and dirt scratching your skin but not giving a damn. You pepper kisses along her swan neck, along her stomach, along every goddamn inch of her – you don't know where to take your lips because every expanse of her looks delicious and it's _there_, letting you do what you want. And you want to do _so much_.

So you slide your tiny hand under her bra and suckle on her bottom lip, tremors running down your spine every time she mewls. It's like a dream, a fantasy, and you receive everything she gives and return it tenfold. The night feels like it'll never end, and you never want it to because the most stunning girl is with you, in every sense of the word.

It's even better when it's over – which feels weird to admit, but when it's over she's gone limp on the blanket, and you trace gentle circles along her back. She's even more beautiful in sleep; the hardened malice has melted from her expression, leaving only the serenity sleep brings. Her features are soft now, and without the angry lines in her face when she's awake, you see no imperfections in her cheeks. Smooth white skins stretches against her cheekbones, and her lips are strawberry pink. She's gorgeous. You love her. It's not a childish girl's puppy love distraction, you know in your gut it's love.

You think she'll stay forever now, think this night is the beginning of a world together. You sleep with a smile imagining this.

When you wake up and she's leaving with her bike, the hardened edges back on her face, you wish you weren't such an optimist.

.

You don't want to kiss her, not this time. But she comes at you with a bullet's speed, and presses you against the locker with a tough, sealing force. You realize you can't resist her even when you want to, because you're an addict and she's the heroin. You can't live with her, but you most certainly can't live without her.

She's trembling, her body shooting tremors through her when she kisses you this time. There is a quivering fear in her voice as breathes her futile resistance into you. She can't escape you like you cannot escape her, and all you can do is reassure her and hold her tight against you. You yourself have cracks in your surface, chipped pieces of dignity but if she's in your arms, you'll do anything you can to keep her there for as long as possible.

Students swarm the corridor soon, and she's pulled away from you, but neither of you can resist the pulsating heat coming off of this meeting, so she drags you along with her, stopping to kiss you whenever you find yourselves able. She takes you back to that house, back into her bed, and you make love as softly and slowly as you possibly can, savoring it all like a delicious treat.

But, lo and behold, when the heat and the passion has been thoroughly used up, she shuns any mention of this being something more. You plead with her to do something, throw you a bone at least, but she rejects your offers of courtship – and in a foul burst of temper, you realize this is a game you can't keep playing.

You're done.

You can't love her, not if she's not even willing to try. (You always were the one who loved too much, little naïve Emily Fitch.)

.

She's watching you now from across the cluttered gym, and you think maybe she's finally learned how to be brave.

The night is full of terrible things, confrontations and tears. But now here you stand, Katie finally accepting this part of you, and Naomi looking at you in the way she only looks at you in the dark. There's nothing left to deny, and you fear – when you tell the entire student body as well as her "I love you" for the first real time – that she will turn on her heel and leave you, like she always does when it comes to such sentimentalities.

And then she holds out her hand, fingers grasping for your touch. Everything inside of you snaps into place then, and you're sure of all the things you never quite were of before.

You approach her, tuck yourself into her side, and maybe this will be a start. A _real_ start.

.

It is.


End file.
